


when he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?

by r1ker



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Gen, Trans Character, all your faves? trans, well make that two trans characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 18:49:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8928901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r1ker/pseuds/r1ker
Summary: ok i read a fic like ten years ago about richard's family being from oklahoma so i ran with itforgive mebut give your love to demigirl erlich and trans fella richard(richard's mom and my mom are one in the same, many many years ago my mother practiced cosmetology in alabama, and still is my number one beauty queen)





	

**Author's Note:**

> ok i read a fic like ten years ago about richard's family being from oklahoma so i ran with it
> 
> forgive me
> 
> but give your love to demigirl erlich and trans fella richard
> 
> (richard's mom and my mom are one in the same, many many years ago my mother practiced cosmetology in alabama, and still is my number one beauty queen)

Erlich comes home with Richard for Christmas – the entire time the powers that be behind Pied Piper decide to shut down business to observe the holidays.

 

The two of them sleep in Richard's old bedroom in the sleepy Oklahoma town that bore him and huddle close on the floor in fluffy sleeping bags. When they'd first got there, after a nauseating plane ride and car ride into Broken Arrow, Richard knew he wouldn't be sleeping on the racecar bed he knew so well. He didn't want to estrange Erlich any.

 

One night, early on in the vacation, they both drift in and out of sleep, the Oklahoma cold biting away at the windows and piercing even the thickest blankets Richard's mother could have provided them. Richard lies on his arms to conserve some of that heat. Next to him Erlich rests motionless, a position that causes Richard to worry about the length of time devoid of movement.

 

"Something on your mind?" he asks into the soft quiet between them, something splintered only by the howl of the wind screeching against the windows. The sound that answers him is the rustle of Erlich's hair against the pillowcase, a headshake by the way Richard strains his ears to hear. The smell of the shampoo they both had used in hasty showers a few hours earlier wafts up, joining hands with the heady fabric softener the linens were washed in.

 

A throat clears, and Richard doesn't really know where this is going. Both of them aren't exactly ones for heart-to-hearts at 3:30 in the morning, but as he's found time and time again since living with Erlich, anything can happen. "I'm not a guy, Richard," Erlich deadpans in a way common people would describe the trivial nature of the sky or the grass. "And I don't think I ever have been."

 

A fact of life so confident, Richard doesn't even try and act surprised. After all, Richard's been coming to know himself as trans for years now, and he remembers that conversation he'd had with himself at fourteen in this very same room. The last part of Erlich's statement makes Richard's chest pang.

 

He'd known from the second he and his mother had gotten back from the barber with his new haircut, the motive behind it totally not the urge to be freed of heavy, curly hair that had become a burden on his morning routine. For months he'd swallowed around it, not made any attempts to let it come to a head and be resolved, until the summer before he went away to college. Then it had all happened – very, very fast.

 

Richard's mother hadn't shed a tear, much to his burgeoning surprise, and the suspicions of his father were finally confirmed. The only question they'd both had about the logistics of it all was what his name was going to be from that moment forward. His dad, of course, wanted some part of his name in the reformed name of his son, and his mother was interested in things that were easy to spell (the only time Richard smiles on this night in the present was her giggling about wanting to be able to monogram things for him).

 

He hadn't any qualms about the one he'd been calling himself in his head the whole time before coming out. He'd dodged his dead name like the plague, and came close to signing it on official documents for college, but in that moment, in the yellowing glow of the kitchen lamps and the lingering burning smell of delivery pizza, he'd said, _Richard. I think I'd like to be a Richard._

 

And from that moment on he was. Now, it seems as he stretches on the silence much too long for it to be construed as contemplative, it is up to him to pass the battalion of confidence. "That's okay," he reassures Erlich as if the matter is up for heated debate. It's not, it's who Erlich is, and Richard chooses first to acknowledge it then look to Erlich as to where to go next.

 

Erlich's sigh of relief is familiar, too. Richard nods much like Erlich did before, and says one more thing before succumbing to the exhaustion pulling down on his eyelids. "Can we talk about it in the morning? I'd hate to fall asleep on you." A sound from the back of Erlich's throat and Richard takes it as a yes, rolls over to the other side of his pillow.

 

"Hey, Richard?" Erlich asks just as Richard's sinking back down into sleep. Richard hums, a soft little noise part sigh and part stifled yawn. "Would you call me by something else from now on?" Richard repeats the sound, something Erlich's begun to take as ascension. "Like 'they' or something? Just for now?"

 

"Mm-hmm," Richard murmurs, reaches behind him to blindly pat at Erlich's shoulder before finally, finally going back to sleep.

 

Richard's mother comes bustling into their room not four hours later, a basket of clothes on her hip, something warm and sweet smelling for them both tucked into the folds of a towel. "Good morning, good morning, good morning!" she chirrups, heaving the basket down onto Richard's empty bed with a triumphant sigh, plucking the baked goods from its contents swiftly.

 

She kneels down to where they are both motionless lumps beneath blankets and sleeping bags, and waves what looks to be a cinnamon roll just below Richard's nose, a perverse smelling salt. When that doesn't appear to work, she holds the roll aside, gently pulling up on Richard's eyelid. "Good morning. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and fourteen of your closest relatives are downstairs embracing this beautiful holiday season. It's high time you do the same!"

 

"You embrace it," Richard mumbles, blinking hard to clear his eye. With a defeated groan he frees himself from the many sheets, careful not to wake Erlich up. "I'm going to let them sleep, if that's alright, Mom." She nods wordlessly, offers the hand not still wielding the sticky bun to help Richard up off of the floor. As he begins to get upright he groans, for being this vertical this fast is a far cry from lying prostrate on a hardwood floor his grandfather laid back in 1953.

 

Mom's observations are confirmed when a chorus of welcoming, bright greetings sound the second Richard makes it downstairs. A few of them gently hurl things at him, cards with gift cards or cash tucked into the glittery folds of the envelopes, small, wrapped presents he can easily shove under his armpits as he migrates towards the wafting smell of coffee coming from the kitchen.

 

"Hi, pal," Richard's dad greets without looking up from the paper, not out of disrespect or anything, just engrossment with the recent high school football tournament scores. Slowly, Richard's dad lets out a sigh of disappointment at a line on the newsprint. "Lost 55-20, we ought to be ashamed of ourselves, Jesus Christ." _Michael, it's Christmas, cut it out,_ his devoted Catholic mother – Richard's grandmother – chides from inches away in her easy chair. Richard smirks at how slapstick the two can be, and huddles close around his cup of coffee, sitting next to his dad at the kitchen table.

 

A few minutes later Erlich stumbles in, eyes half-open, blanket thrown about their shoulders. They slump down next to Richard in the empty kitchen chair, head going to the table, almost fast asleep again. "I have breakfast coming, don't you fret," Richard's mother reassures, back to them as she bends at the waist to examine it as it cooks in the oven.

 

Under her breath she hums as she flits about, easing a glass pan of something looking pretty damn good onto several oven mitts arranged in a lattice on the kitchen island. Without missing a maternal beat she grabs a pitcher of juice from the fridge, slides it between Erlich and Richard along with two ridged plastic cups. The clink of the glasses together is the last straw as to Erlich being able to sleep with their head on their arms, and they awaken, begin pouring equal amounts of juice for them and Richard.

 

"I have breakfast casserole, I have cinnamon rolls, and if that's not enough I can throw a small crowd's worth of Eggos into that toaster oven. I can only assume there's not a vast abundance of carbohydrates out in California, what with that group that's always watching their figures," she explains, passing out plates warmed in the microwave adorned with silverware wrapped carefully in red napkins. "That's where I come in. All they drill into our heads in that mommy boot camp – feed the children. Less sad than those donation commercials on TV, yeah?" Richard, the spiral of a cinnamon roll hanging out of his mouth, could not agree more.

 

The rest of the family tucks in and claims their stake of the Christmas Eve breakfast feast, settles for gathering around the fire in the living room rather than the cramped space of the kitchen. Richard finishes in record time – why is it that he always has more of an appetite at home than at, well, his second home – but hangs around to see if anyone needs him to polish anything off.

 

His mom has a hip to the counter, eating like an old-time hostess who never got off their feet for fear of a guest's need, when in fact there hasn't been a peep made in the house since the food got done. "If the food doesn't get you back in the sack you're more than welcome to tag along with me to the mall. Erlich, too! I have a few last minute things I want to get, plus, Macy's Estee Lauder counter's having a sale." Richard isn't entirely turned off to the idea.

 

He's been to the miniscule area mall so many times in his life he's carved out safe areas to explore while his mother shops. For one, the guy that owns the Spencer's and the comic shop knows him well enough to let him peruse for as long as his heart sees fit. The computer repair store could use a facelift, and some staff that know the difference between hard and software, but other than that, not a bad place to spend an afternoon with your menopausal mother and business partner.

 

After breakfast Richard laces up his boots, and makes sure Erlich has another coat beneath the one they brought with them ( _you're going to freeze to death out there, trust me_ , Richard reassures, slinging a soft gray hoodie in Erlich's direction). Freshly fallen snow crunches beneath their feet as the three of them – Mom's wearing as many layers as she can, her delicate hands tucked into worn gray mittens – trudge out to the car.

 

"What a fine minivan you drive, Mrs. Hendricks," Erlich genuinely compliments, sliding out the back door so Richard can get in first. They figure they'll both sit in the back seat to save Richard the strain of having to talk to Erlich from the passenger seat. She cranks up the van, eyes closed as if praying the engine will turn over in this frigid weather, and her wish is granted; it rumbles to life with a wheezing grind. Knobs and whistles are shoved to their very extremes to warm up the seasoned leather of the bench seats.

 

"Hop in, my loves," she yells from behind the wheel to the two of them standing in the snow as if the cold car is any better. Erlich spends the car ride gazing out of the frosted back seat window. They can see a side of this country Napa never had to offer, homegrown businesses still going strong on Christmas Eve with the hope of satisfying more hard-working, blue-collar Oklahomans that maybe had been toiling when others in more upscale towns were shopping until they dropped.

 

The mall's on what could be the other end of the earth, what for the winding roads, dented twists and turns, they take to get there. Fortunately for them attendance is light at this particular shopping destination so they manage to get pretty close to the front. Richard's the first to take charge into the mall, his mother and Erlich not too far behind.

 

The first place the group gets to is the aforementioned cosmetics counter, and there, Richard's mother climbs into her niche. Years before Richard was born, before his older siblings had even been a thought, she'd practiced cosmetology with the hopes of striking it big.

 

Her mother thought she'd watched _I Love Lucy_ for Ricky's unyielding charm, when in reality, she sought as much information as possible about the cosmetics adorning Lucille Ball's face episode after episode.

 

So she went to school, learned the trade and perhaps a bit more than she had bargained for what with the tuition being suspiciously affordable for this neck of the woods. Then came Michael, and three babies not two years apart in succession, and her talent became reserved to weekly trips to the two drugstores on either end of their town, a familiar face that bought her beauty goods alongside diapers and men's shaving razors, teething rings and aspirin.

 

Richard always knew his mother was the most beautiful woman on the planet. He couldn't find another face to compare it to, old Hollywood-like in the headshots he'd found of her one rainy afternoon in the attic of their home, and knew she took great pride in learning how to make it look even better. He watches her take to the racks of pre-selected tester items, go for things marked _New!_ He figures she's like the magnet they've been forged to be forever paired to, with inseparable poles.

 

In an instant a pleasant conversation between his mother and the cantankerous teenager tasked with manning the counter is begun, so he wonders from kiosk to kiosk, Erlich dawdling a little behind him. Richard says when they cross paths again, "You can come with me or stay with mom if you'd like. She's always looking for more people to join her on her quests." Erlich nods, with their tip of their head agreeing to stay close to Mrs. Hendricks while Richard wanders off to the computer repair shop.

 

So Richard pokes around in the aged Tiger Direct CPU's and Gateways, finds them just as dusty and riddled with cobwebs as the last time he was home three years ago, and finds himself clinging onto an old Windows 3.0 disc that doesn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of running on any sort of modern processor. He finds it a lost cause when he opens the tattered cardboard envelope holding it and sees a large gash right down its rigid center, and with a farewell pat to the large, fuzzy cat lying in the windowsill, sets it down in a discount bin to be fawned over another day.

 

When Richard goes back to the counter, his mother isn't in the demonstration chair having new and exciting things applied to her in the hopes of their promised marvels. It's Erlich with their face tilted up, a little sheepish, a little like they don't feel like they belong there, but to the side of the chair stands their cheerleader. "And a little more of this right about here," she murmurs with a white plastic tray covered in splotches in her hand, a tattered brush coated in something making Erlich's lips shine.

 

"Good as new, pretty new penny," she says, looking over her shoulder and winking at her son. "My Christmas gift to Erlich. I'm gonna get the trial set for them, help them set it all up for when we all get together for dinner tonight. We're gonna dress to the nines and put all this stuff on, and feel like a couple of swell gals." She steps aside to show the damage she's already done aside for the things she's picked out for Erlich. A few crisp white bags looked stuffed to the gills with new things, and Richard's gut aches for the griping his father will do over the amount spent, but that all fades away with Erlich's glance downward at their face in the mirror, and the dazzling smile Richard sees spread across it.


End file.
